A Man Walks Into A Bar
by WrenClayton
Summary: AU. Sam and Dean are in a particularly violent biker gang, and there's only one thing Sam loves more than sleeping with Dean. Wincest fic. Warnings for violence, murder, gun kink, blood kink, and really bad language.
1. A Man Walks Into A Bar

"Hey. Buck." Jasper gestured with his beer to something over Buck's shoulder, his murmur barely audible over the noise of the bar. "Some biker kid's giving us slut-eyes."

Buck wiped beer foam off his beard and glanced behind him. Sitting in a seat at the bar with his legs spread, elbows draped over the polished wood, was a man in his early twenties wearing tight black jeans, a ripped shirt, and a leather jacket. He was staring straight at Buck and biting his lip. Buck almost choked on his tongue and looked away quickly, hunching over his beer.

"_Some biker kid_?" he hissed. "That's Sam fucking Winchester, Jas! Don't make eye contact!"

"Much rather make a different kind of contact." Jasper chuckled and took another sip of his beer, still staring at the man across the bar. "Wouldja take a _look _at him, Buck? He's got 'whore' written all over his face. It's clear what he wants."

"God fucking knows what Sam Winchester wants, Jasper, but I can guarantee you one thing," Buck growled. "It ain't your dick."

Sam brought a hand up to his mouth and slid the thumb over his lower lip, biting the tip of it, his eyes locked on Jasper. Jasper gave him a filthy grin.

"Don't make fucking eye contact!" Buck snarled.

"Yeah, yeah, don't be jealous, old man," Jasper smirked.

Sam spread his legs a little wider. His hard on was straining against his tight pants, plainly visible to anyone who might glance at him. Jasper was doing a little more than just glancing. Sam ran a hand down his hard stomach and grabbed his cock through his pants, eyes closing for just a moment and mouth opening in what was clearly a moan.

Jasper slammed his beer down on the table and stood up.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Buck hissed.

"I'm gonna stuff that bitch's ass," Jasper replied with a grin. He ignored Buck's snarled warning and stalked across the room. He got right up close to Sam, standing between his open legs and bracing his arms on the bar.

"Hey there."

Sam's smile was soft and his eyes were empty. "Hush, this is my favorite part."

The bang of a firing gun resounded off the walls. Sam pulled his leg out of the way so Jasper's lifeless body could slump unobstructed to the floor, flopping into a growing pool of blood that oozed from the hole in his head. The whole bar was dead silent and motionless, except for the one man who was pointing a gun at the space Jasper's head used to occupy. The man spat scornfully on the floor before lowering his weapon.

"Fucker," he growled. The man stalked over to Sam, heavy boots thumping on the uneven bar floor. When he got to Sam he grabbed the other man's legs and pressed himself between them, teeth bared. "That's the fifth asshole this week who's tried to put his hands on you, Sammy."

Sam raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, but his smile was anything but. "Well, I wouldn't know anything about that."

The man with the gun grabbed Sam's hair _hard, _biting his neck until Sam hissed. "I'm gonna get you a fucking dog collar, Sam, one that says 'Dean Winchester's bitch' on the tag so everyone knows who you belong to. You're fucking _mine, _Sam."

Sam groaned as Dean's hand reached roughly between his legs, grabbing his erection and squeezing it. Then Dean's mouth was on his, and it was more teeth than tongue and barely a kiss at all, just biting and snarling and leaving red marks all over Sam's lips.

"Hey!" The barkeep seemed to have snapped out of his daze and was reaching under the bar for something. "You faggots wanna fuck, go do it somewh- "

Dean raised his gun and shot the man clean through the head without tearing his mouth away from Sam's. The bar seemed to come back to life at that point, some people standing around and freaking out, most making a hasty beeline for the exit. The latter school of thought seemed quite sensible to Buck, and he set down his beer as quietly as possible and tried to melt into the crowd, not daring to even glance at the pair of brothers at the bar.

"_Mine, _Sam," Dean repeated, teeth digging into Sam's neck until he tasted blood. "Always gonna love you and protect you and fuck you, Sammy, no one's gonna touch my little brother."

"Only you, Dean," Sam breathed back, like it was a prayer, like this was a ritual and he knew the steps by heart. Dean pulled a knife out of his pocket and tore it through Sam's pants, ripping the whole crotch area open. He gave his brother's hard cock a few hungry strokes before pulling Sam off the bar stool, turning him around, and shoving him over the polished wood. The whole room could hear the rip as Dean tore the seat of Sam's pants open.

"Dean," Sam panted as his brother's cock fell thick and hot against his bare ass. Dean grabbed his dick and guided it down to Sam's hole, still wet from the last time they fucked.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam grinned over his shoulder. "Kill another one for me."

Buck's whole body tensed as another _bang_ rang through the bar, followed by the thump of some unnamed body hitting the floor. Sam started laughing, and Buck could hear Dean grunt as he shoved into his brother. Buck started running for the door at that point, not even trying to be inconspicuous anymore. He made it to the exit and staggered out into the night air, gasping in great lungfuls of it, but nothing would ever get the ringing of Sam's laughter out of his ears.


	2. It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

Black rain poured like oil from the sky. It was deep in the night and the air was thick with storm. Through the wind and the dark and the greasy asphalt, two shapes slightly blacker than the night around them zoomed down the empty road, throwing beams of harsh light before them like spears.

Dean Winchester's wet leather jacket flapped in the wind as he sped down the road behind Sam, leaning over the bars of his sleek, black bike. He almost never let Sam lead like this. If something was going to show up on the road ahead of them, well, it was going to hit him before it hit Sammy. But every once in a while, he indulged himself in this particular view of his brother.

The headlight of Dean's bike threw cold, yellow-white light across Sam's body, hunkered over the bulky, prowling form of his bike. Despite the rain splattering against the visor of his helmet, Dean could pick out every detail of his brother's tight leather pants stretching over his ass. And that view alone made brief, brief moments of putting himself behind Sam worth it.

Dean had gotten used to riding a motorbike with a hard-on. But that didn't mean it was comfortable, or that it wouldn't be a hell of a lot more comfortable buried in his brother's snug body. Dean revved up his bike and zoomed past Sam, kicking up their speed. There was a town not far ahead, and he was hungry for the comforts of cheap booze and greasy diner food and a scratchy motel bed that he and Sam would pretend they were going to fuck in, and never make it to.

* * *

They zoomed into the parking lot of the first trashy motel they could find. A few lights were still on, and a group of men were loitering just out of the rain, holding beers and laughing. The rain hadn't let up, still drumming down from an inky sky. Dean was halfway to Sam's bike before Sam had gotten his helmet off, his boots stomping through the the shimmery oil slicks kicked up by the rain. Sam smiled at Dean when his helmet came off, dropping it casually on the handlebar of his bike and grunting slightly when Dean practically slammed into him, pinning Sam against the sleek, predatory body of his bike.

"Gave me a nice view, sweetheart," Dean drawled, one hand glued between Sam's legs. The leather was wet, but he could feel the heat of Sam's cock, and as far as Dean was concerned, it was heaven. Sam purred and pressed into the touch, tangling his hand in Dean's wet hair and pulling him into a hungry kiss. Teeth and lips and tongue, the textures flashed clear as day. God, Dean knew the thumbprint texture of Sam's tongue by heart now, every tastebud where it should be. Sam tasted like exhilarated man and rainwater and, above all else, _Sam._

Dean supposed he heard the sound of footsteps approaching as he pushed his brother up against the bike and reached into his pants, the tight leather hugging his hand up against the hot, hard ridge of Sam's cock. But he didn't see how the footsteps were worth his time and attention, until he heard someone clear their throat.

"Weeeeeell, some fancy birds a-migratin' here, gentlemen."

Dean pulled away from Sam's mouth with an intolerant sigh and slowly turned to level a death glare at the five men watching them. "Fuck off," he grunted. He hated buzzkills.

"All I wanna know," one of the men remarked, gesturing between the two of them with his beer bottle. " - Which one'a you is the bitch?"

A smile spread across Sam's face like he'd been handed a box of candy. He lifted a hand and fluttered his fingers in a wave. "I'm the bitch," he offered helpfully.

"Yeah, shoulda guessed. You look the part."

Dean's jaw tensed and his lip curled. The men - suicidally - approached, one of them nudging the other and pointing at Dean's hand disappearing into Sam's pants.

"You wanna give us a turn with the bitch?" one of them called. "He don' look like he'd mind."

"Oh no, I couldn't." Sam's voice was completely deadpan, but he still had a huge grin on his face.

"Yeah, I doubt that."

These men were _looking. _At _Sam. _And not only that, they had the nerve to think they could _touch. _Men had lost their hands for less. Dean reached under his jacket and his calloused fingers found the smooth handle of a gun, almost, but not quite as familiar as Sam's tongue.

"C'mon, we won't hurt him or nothin'. Just wanna see what those pretty lips look like fulla - "

The bang that sent a bloody hole through the man's head cut off his words. Dean would have left it at that if they'd run - they weren't worth the bullets - but one of the men cursed loudly and started reaching into his jacket for - Nope, can't be having that, now. There was another bang and the second man dropped.

Dean felt Sam leave his side as two of the remaining men rushed for them. He downed one with a bang and heard a wet, strangled noise come from the other as he fell into Sam's arms. The last man had dropped to his knees and was fishing Dead Idiot #2's weapon out of his jacket. Dean clucked softly and shook his head before snapping off one last shot.

The man that had staggered towards Sam was gurgling slightly, held up only by Sam's arms. Sam was murmuring to him, cupping his face gently, his other hand clutching a bloody knife that was still dripping. Dean's heart lurched when he saw Sam's arm and neck and half of his face drenched in blood, until he saw the red, gory smile arcing across the man's throat, pouring a torrent of blood that Sam would occasionally run his fingers through.

"Shh, there you go," Sam whispered, helping the man stagger over to his bike. "Want you to die for me nice and easy... just like that... shhh... "

The man let out one last rattling breath and went limp, and Sam dumped him over the front of his bike, smiling as the blood poured over the chrome and shimmered in the streetlight. Dean sighed.

"We're gonna have to wash that off, sugar," he grunted.

Sam leaned his head on Dean's shoulder and wove their fingers together, as if they were watching something romantic. "The rain will take care of it."

Dean snorted, grinning in spite of himself. "You'd get arrested so fast without me."

"Be lost without you, Dean." Sam kissed Dean's hair. "Always need you."

Dean tilted his head up and locked his lips around Sam's. He grabbed Sam's hip with one hand and pushed his gun back under his jacket, putting it away, but Sam grabbed his wrist.

"No," Sam breathed against his lips, guiding the gun back out of Dean's belt and raising the muzzle to his own chest. "Keep it out."

The sight of the gun pointed at Sam made Dean's stomach twist. "I - I can't do that one, Sam."

Sam pulled the gun away quickly and kissed Dean's forehead, as if to apologize. "Then... " he whispered, taking the gun out of Dean's hand and nudging the blunt head under his brother's jaw. " ... let me?"

Dean nodded, breathless. His life was already Sam's; this was as comfortable as breathing. "Yeah. Go ahead, baby."

Pushing forward to seal his lips around Sam's made the gun dig into Dean's neck, but it was worth it to taste Sam again. They staggered back towards Sam's bike, Dean pulling Sam's pants down as they went, grabbing the hot flesh as rain landed on Sam's bare skin. Sam kicked off one of his boots and the corresponding leg of his leather pants, grunting when Dean pushed him onto his back on the bike. Sam adjusted himself so he was lying on the seat lengthwise, head cushioned by the dead body lying over the handlebars, naked legs spread over the wet leather seat with his pants still hanging off one foot. As Dean watched, Sam smiled and reached his free hand behind himself, finding the dead man's slit throat. There was a slick, slippery sound, and a moment later Sam was sliding dripping red fingers between his legs and rubbing them there. He was still holding the gun to Dean's neck and grinning, panting.

Dean practically ripped his own pants open as he straddled the bike, pushing up Sam's legs. He worked his cock free and pressed it against his brother, the heat of Sam's entrance almost boiling in the cool, rainy air. The dead man's blood was slick against the head of his cock, promising to guide him inside smooth and easy. He knew Sam was ready - Sam was always ready for him.

"Love you, Sammy," Dean murmured, and pushed inside.

Sam reached down to clutch the side of the bike with a gasp as Dean slipped into him. His lip quivered slightly as Dean pumped in and out, his eyes hazy with pleasure.

"Love watching you kill, Dean," Sam panted, stroking the muzzle of the gun lovingly down Dean's throat.

Dean groaned, losing himself in the tight heat of Sam around his cock. "I know it, baby boy. I do it for you." He leaned in and rested his forehead against Sam's, slicking his cock through the soft, tight vice of Sam's body. "Kill 'em all for you, Sammy."

He swore he could feel the _thump thump thump _of Sam's heart against his cock, picking up speed. Sam never lasted long when they had just killed. And Dean never lasted long after seeing Sam come.

"D-Dean... " Sam tangled a hand in Dean's hair and pulled him close, still pressing the gun under his brother's jaw, panting with each slap of Dean's hips against his ass. Each one of Sam's hot breaths mingled with Dean's, and Dean sucked in the hot air like it was the sweetest drug. "F-fuck, Dean, Dean, Dean... "

Dean's composure unraveled under the gasps and moans of Sam's bedroom noises. It felt so right to be buried in his brother, felt like home. Dean reached between their bodies, groping for Sam's cock, then paused and instead reached toward the dead man's neck again.

"Want me to lube you up, Sammy?" Dean purred, pushing his fingers into the meaty slit of the man's throat.

Sam's eyes widened and his breath hitched, his body clenching around Dean's cock. Dean grinned and brought his bloody hand down to Sam's dick, slicking it up and squeezing it.

"F-_fuck_ - " Sam sounded like he could barely breathe, his muscles contracting around Dean's cock like they were trying to strangle it. The gun trembled a little against Dean's throat. "Oh god - fuck - _Dean_ - "

"Yeah, that's it, come for me, little brother, come for me - " Dean squeezed Sam's cock, hard, a slick drop of precome mingling with the blood. "Come on, baby - "

Sam writhed against the bike and screamed as he came, come splattering across his blood-soaked shirt. Seeing Sam come pushed some magic little button inside Dean, it always did, and he followed Sam over the edge with a gasp and a few more hard snaps of his hips. His balls were pressed up against Sam's ass as he spilled inside his little brother, cock throbbing and pulsing with Sam stretched around it.

Sam panted up at Dean, his breath steaming in the air. The dead man's blood on his face shimmered in the streetlight, slick scarlet on his skin, a few drops of it staining his teeth. The gun was still digging under Dean's jaw so roughly it hurt, and Dean could tell Sam was breathless from more than just his orgasm.

Dean knew his brother was insane. People thought he didn't know, but he did. He just didn't see how that changed anything. Sam was still Sam, still his little brother, still his to protect. Forever. Dean leaned close to Sam's blood-splattered face, ignoring the way the live gun dug into his skin.

"Mine, Sammy," he whispered, brushing his lips over his brother's.

Sam let out a slow, content breath, hazel eyes closing and for just a second hiding the void behind them. The gun finally lifted away from Dean's throat, and Sam breathed the only word that Dean needed to go on living.

"Yours."


End file.
